


Home

by smug_albatross



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Happy Ending Canon, Hurt/Comfort, I love these complete fools, I've fallen into this fandom and I can't get up, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-08 18:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15249831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smug_albatross/pseuds/smug_albatross
Summary: Connor's body has been damaged, but he still knows where safety is.





	Home

Connor's fingers fumbled on the doorknob of Hank's house. The thirium made them slippery and the damage to his systems made them clumsy, but he managed to get the door open anyway.

He'd accomplished his mission. The anti-android conspiracy group had been exposed and left vulnerable to a police raid. But, in a twist of what Hank would call "irony", the group had used unawakened security androids and they moved just as fast as Connor did.

Bullets, of course, still moved much faster.

The door's hinges creaked shut behind him. Connor took exactly four and a half more steps before collapsing as the servos in his knees - _left knee joint functioning at 14% capacity, right knee joint no longer functional -_ finally succumbed to the warnings that had been flashing in Connor's vision ever since they'd been met with a steel baseball bat.

"Ow," Connor mumbled, because it seemed like something Hank would say, and pushed himself upright until he was slumped against a wall. He leaned back until the back of his head knocked gently against the wall. He'd lost his beanie in the escape, leaving it lying on the street outside the group's hideout after it had gotten caught on the frame of the window he'd dived out of to escape a hail of gunfire.

He took several deep breaths, trying to cool down his systems, and ran a new diagnostic.

int runDiagnostic { 

     diagnostic ();

}

void diagnosticResults { 

     Thirium Pump (97) {

          Damage: minor, natural degradation;

          Maintenance: no;

          Replacement: no;

          Reparable: yes;

     }

     Memory Banks (89) {

          Damage: minor, blunt force trauma;

          Maintenance: no;

          Replacement needed: no;

          Reparable: yes;

          Backup: functional;

     }

     Audio processor, left (61) {

          Damage: mild, ballistic trauma;

          Maintenance: yes;

          Replacement needed: no;

          Reparable: yes;

     }

     Brachium, left (42) {

          Damage: moderate, blunt force trauma - crushing;

          Maintenance: yes;

          Replacement needed: partial;

          Reparable: partially;

     }

     Torso casing (39) {

          Damage: severe, blunt force trauma, ballistic trauma;

          Maintenance: yes;

          Replacement needed: partial;

          Reparable: yes;

     }

     Thirium (37) {

          Volume: 37%, severe depletion;

          Replenishment: yes;

          Critical: no;

     }

     Knee joint, left (14) {

          Damage: CRITICAL, blunt force trauma, ballistic trauma;

          Maintenance: yes;

          Replacement needed: yes;

          Reparable: no;

     }

     Knee joint, right (0) {

          Damage: COMPLETELY DESTROYED, blunt force trauma, ballistic trauma;

          Maintenance: yes;

          Replacement needed: yes;

          Reparable: no;

     }

     string("Diagnostic Complete");

} 

Connor's expression didn't change as the results of the diagnostic scrolled across his vision. It wasn't anything he didn't already know - every blow and bullet had sent numbers flying across vision.

He closed his eyes, cutting off outside input to focus on the particulars of the diagnostic report. He'd have to order new parts - replacement thirium -

Sumo whined. Connor opened his eyes to see the big, friendly dog nudging his damaged arm. He stroked the dog's head absently as he returned to his attention to the diagnostic. The knee joints were the most urgent -

Something rattled. Androids didn't _get_ impatient, even deviant ones, but Connor has always been strange even by android standards so he gritted his teeth and looked toward the sound.

The door opened and possibilities exploded in Connor's vision: _34% chance of group member escaping custody (98% chance of destruction), 17% chance of malevolent intruder (94% chance of destruction), 9% chance of nonviolent criminal, 40% chance of Hank._

Connor preferred the Hank option, but after today he wasn't taking any chances.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice.

* * *

 

Work was shit.

Work had a lot of paperwork. Paperwork was shit. Ergo, work was shit. And he didn't even have Connor around to help lately, not since he'd decided to cash in all that "personal time" he'd racked up since the revolution and disappeared, telling Hank just enough for the detective to figure out that it was a) something to do with New Jericho and Markus (so probably to do with the sharp rise in anti-android hate crimes they'd seen lately) and 2) dangerous. Neither of those options left Hank particularly thrilled.

Yeah, he worried. He was old. He was _allowed_ to worry. Privilege of seniority or some shit like that. Fuck, getting old ought to come with _some_ benefits.

He pulled the car up to the driveway and got out with a groan as his knees popped.

He stopped, all complaints about aching bones vanishing in an instant as his hand dropped to his sidearm.

There was a trail of thirium droplets leading to his front door. The doorknob was smeared with the stuff.

Hank drew his sidearm and opened the door.

Something scrabbled and _moved_ and his finger tightened on the trigger - _just a little more and_ -

_"WHOOF!"_

Hank swore and reholstered his pistol. "Dammit, dog - Connor!"

Connor was sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own thirium, eyes fixed on Hank and his LED glowing stark red. "Lieutenant."

"Fucking _shit,"_ Hank hissed, dodging around Sumo's enthusiastic greeting to kneel next to Connor, pulling the android's uninjured arm away from the wounds in his chest and stomach as gently as he could. "Jesus, Connor, what the fuck happened to you - where the fuck's the thirium - ?" He glared around at the apartment as if expecting a bottle of thirium to materialize, but it was stuffed into the top shelf of a closet and completely useless.

"There was an anti-android group," Connor informed him, voice perfectly neutral. "I needed to delay them until the key members were certain to be arrested."

"By letting them beat the shit out of you?" Hank snapped.

Connor shrugged one shoulder. "It worked."

Hank huffed. "Jackass." He took a deep breath. "Okay, son. What do you need?"

Connor's eyes focused on a point somewhere over Hank's shoulder. Hank tried not to panic - sure, it might be bad when _humans_ did it, but androids didn't do that unless they meant to.

"Left brachial supports," he began, "parts #457.12.501-B and #475.12.502-C. Torso casings, parts #211.63.925-A and - "

"Connor," Hank interrupted. Connor turned his head to look at him, smearing the small pool of thirium underneath his head. "Just order the fuckin' things."

There was a pause. "There's...a slight issue, Lieutenant. I can't access any networks. My communications array is damaged."

Hank gritted his teeth. "Fuckin' - that's it, we're getting you to a repair shop."

* * *

 

Twenty minutes of protesting and one visit to an ex-Cyberlife repair shop later, Connor had been glued and soldered back together, filled back up with thirium, and was now collapsed on Hank's couch - or whatever passed for sleep with androids.

Hank, forgoing sleep despite the fact that it was one in the morning and he worked tomorrow, sat at the table, staring at a bottle of whiskey and reminding himself that Connor needed him.

At his knee, Sumo nosed at his hand, demanding to be pet.

He shoved the bottle away.

Sumo whined insistently and Hank reached down to scratch the dog's head behind the ears, smiling slightly. His smile faded as he looked toward the couch, where Connor lay.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Sumo _whoofed_ quietly in agreement.

They sat together in silence for God-knows-how-long. It was almost peaceful, actually, the only sounds being the sounds of their breathing and the wind kicking against the windows. Hank leaned back in his chair - maybe he could shut his eyes, just for a second -

Connor screamed.

Hank knocked over his chair as he rushed to the living room, where Connor was sitting bolt upright, nearly hyperventilating. His LED flickered erratically between red and the heart-clenching _off_ , and his eyes darted to and fro until they fixed on Hank.

"I thought..." Connor trailed off as his LED steadied in the red. "I, I _felt_ \- "

Hank sat on the couch next to him, rubbing circles into the android's back. "Nightmare?"

Connor shook his head. "Androids don't get nightmares. When we're in standby - sleeping, I suppose - we compile the events of the day into our memory banks." He glanced at Hank. "It saves storage without damaging recall ability."

Hank nodded. "So you were doing...that, and you panicked. Got stuck."

"They damaged my knees," Connor whispered. "I couldn't run quickly enough to escape. I had to disable them all if I wanted to escape, but I only had a four percent chance of...of success..."

"You got caught up in the what-ifs, huh?" Hank leaned back against the back of the couch. Connor shifted, rearranging himself on the couch until he was pressed into Hank's side.

"I shouldn't have," he said. "I didn't want - I didn't _mean_ to, it just sort of...happened."

Hank grunted. "Y'know what humans call that, Connor?"

"...no." Connor tilted his head quizzically. "What do humans call it?"

 _"Imagination_ ," Hank said softly.

"Oh."

Hank sighed. He should probably explain it, actually. Databases were great and all, but they were too clinical for personal concepts like 'imagination'. But it was too late for that shit and if Connor really wanted to know, he'd ask. So he dropped the subject. "You gonna be all right, son?"

"I think so," Connor said. "I'm going to go back into standby mode now, if that's all right. I'm sorry for waking you, Lieutenant."

"Ah, shut up," Hank grumbled. "It's fine."

Connor's eyes shut and his LED, now yellow, pulsed and dimmed.

Hank eased his way off the couch lowered Connor back onto the cushions. Sumo jumped up on the couch and sat on Connor's legs as soon as Hank stepped back, and Hank rolled his eyes, smiling slightly, and went back to bed.

It was good to have him home.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any actual computer scientists reading this, I'd like to apologize profusely. Any code is a horrible, cannibalized mess of Java, Swift, and C++.
> 
> EDIT: Apparently my divides got lost somewhere, but they're back now. Sorry, folks!


End file.
